


Knifeplay

by Barb G (troutkitty), devo



Category: Highlander: The Series, The X-Files
Genre: Bondage, Crossover, Knifeplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-03-03
Updated: 2000-03-03
Packaged: 2017-10-24 15:19:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troutkitty/pseuds/Barb%20G, https://archiveofourown.org/users/devo/pseuds/devo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Methos, an Upper East Side Psychiatrist of a certain acquaintance, Alex Krycek, and knives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knifeplay

**Author's Note:**

> The authors wish to thank Kelpie for her Helpful Beta Comments, and Olympia for the contribution of an Important Detail. We also wish to extend our very warmest birthday greetings to a Certain Person. Finally, the authors wish to thank each other for being so much fun to play with.
> 
> This story is a sequel to devo's _Swordplay_ and is also set post her story _The Gift_.
> 
>  _Swordplay_ can be found at:  
> [http://netcafe.simplenet.com/fiction/adultfic/swordplay.htm](http://web.archive.org/web/19991115185533/http://netcafe.simplenet.com/fiction/adultfic/swordplay.htm)
> 
>  _The Gift_ can be found at the Futures Without End site:  
> <http://mediafans.org/futures2/welcome.html>

Methos stepped into the late morning sunlight, the Madison Avenue office door shutting behind him and locking with a click. The October air was turning brisk, making him glad for his overcoat. Of course, he never went to New York without a wide array weapons, and weapons demanded the concealment that only cold-weather clothing could provide. Methos made it a rule to stay away from New York in the summertime.

Connor, true to form, had left him on his own devices once again after luring Methos out to the coast with promises of fine antique weapons and even finer antique booze. And he had found a weapon or two to his liking from Connor's collection. It paid to have friends in the antique business. Methos liked dealing with Connor over this sort of thing rather than the younger MacLeod--fewer complications or questions asked.

But then Connor had abruptly informed him that he would be unavailable on Friday to hunt down a lead on a rare 1885 signed edition of Burton's One Thousand and One Nights, as promised. Methos first fumed, then made other plans, recalling the afternoon he had spent with a certain willing psychiatrist the year before.

He had found her, not less willing, certainly, but less easily impressed than the year before. He had thought to once again take control of the situation by showing off his mastery of edged weapons, in this case a long, filigree-handled dagger. She had thrown him a bit (though he shouldn't have been surprised -- the woman did have a broadsword, after all) by recognizing it as part of a Spanish rapier and dagger ensemble and then by neatly relieving him of it with a Philipino knife disarm. "Where'd you learn _that_?" he asked, thinking of MacLeod and wondering if he ought to refresh his Escrima skills -- the whole bloody world seemed to be up on this latest fad in fighting styles. "Oh, here and there," she had coyly replied, tracing her fingers up and down the blade and looking up at him through her eyelashes. "Did you think," she continued, "after we met last year that I would just leave this stuff alone?"

Reaching out, he had taken the blade from her and gently traced its point along her inner arm and out to her palm. She shivered in response, looking up from the knifepoint to his eyes. "More," she commanded, and he had complied, his eyes flicking from her eyes to her body and back again as he methodically undressed her piece by piece and traced her body lightly on each revealed part with the tip of the blade. Her breath caught; her eyes dilated as she trembled against the feel of the blade, and he reached in to lick the tiny beads of sweat from her upper lip. Gripping his arms, she bowed her head and took several breaths. Bringing her close, he could feel the beat of her heart against his chest.

"I was hoping you'd come back," she said softly. He said nothing, but kissed her gently, then with increasing fervor as she bent her head back to allow him better access, leaning back into his arms. _Delightful_ , he thought, glad he had chanced coming here.

At a slow, trance-like pace, they found their way to the floor--an insane line from a gangster movie about "doing it on the oriental" running wildly through his head. Stretching full length over her body with the filigree knife still gripped in one hand, he pressed against her, raising and lowering himself sinuously. With increasing abandon, Methos let go of the knife so he could remove his own clothing. With a feral grin, Julie surprised him for the second time by snatching it up and pressing the edge to the sensitive, vulnerable flesh of his throat. His breathing must have caught. With passion rising out of the trance, she rolled him onto his back, and, holding the knife against him, rode him in an endless wave...

***

An hour later and in a considerably better mood, Methos walked the several blocks over to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Seeing Julie had satisfied the side of him that liked knowing he could bring pleasure to another--a gentle mastery, spiced with danger's edge. He had loved it when she had taken the knife, feeling totally safe with her despite her newfound skills. And she had certainly seemed to enjoy his attentions. Afterwards, though, she had declined his offer of lunch. She had work to do, she said, and patients coming. And with that, she had neatly dismissed him.

Just as well. These encounters were endearing but couldn't really lead to anything. He wasn't ready for another Alexa, and besides, there was MacLeod to think of. At the thought of the recalcitrant Scot, Methos' thoughts darkened. MacLeod had disappeared again after the O'Rourke affair. Not entirely unexpected, but frustrating nonetheless. In a way, visiting Connor had been an attempt to distract himself from one MacLeod with the company of another. It hadn't worked. Connor was far too elusive, rather like Methos himself. Two cats playing hide and... hide.

As for the younger MacLeod, Methos had so far restrained the urge to track the man down, chain him to a bedpost, and fuck him senseless. The man was infuriating, opening the door to a relationship but setting cautious limits on its expression by his zen-like reticence and care. They had made tentative love a few times--sacred, tender, and nurturing. Lovely, gentle, sweet. Methos nearly snarled. He needed more. Seeing Julie had satisfied one part of him, but the other parts were ravenous. Distractedly, he climbed the steps to the Museum, calming himself with every breath. No use letting the absent Boyscout spoil his day. It wasn't MacLeod's fault that Methos got ancy if relationships were either too dark or too light. Each experience called for another, for balance. He entered the main hall and rotunda, pausing to breathe expansively in the large interior space. MacLeod might like his wilderness in which to ground and replenish his soul; Methos liked culture. Besides, museums were something like scrapbooks for him. A trip down memory lane...

Turning left from the main hall, he entered the hall of Greek and Roman antiquities. Marble paragons of male beauty stood arranged in careful rows, natural light from high windows streaming across their forms. The mementos of a long-distant past put Methos instantly in a sharper mood. The civilized presentation of these relics belied the studied brutality of those times. His eyes narrowed, recalling the person he had been then: not far past the Horsemen, still needing the knife edge of control that his earlier games with Julie had been a mere whisper of. Methos sighed. Still, it had been fun.

A few tourists wandered about waving their programs around and complaining about the sudden turn in the weather, while a student busily sketched. He looked up to the statue, and smiled. The body of a god, but his head and his testicles were missing. It must have been a hell of a night.

"Was he a friend of yours?" a deep, gravely voice whispered behind him. Methos turned, hiding his sudden tension in a casual slouch. Alex had changed since the last time he had seen him. The boy had filled out some, gotten a haircut, and now was wearing exclusively black. The leather jacket and mock-turtleneck showed off how similar his skin was to the marble statues around them. White skin and a dark need. Perhaps the evening would provide the balance he was craving.

Methos snapped his wrist, and the arm holster dropped a plain knife into his waiting palm. The hilt was leather and was still warm from his body heat. The student continued his drawing, oblivious to them as Methos moved the blade closer to Alex's thigh. "How do you feel about life imitating art?" he asked, his voice dark and dangerous.

To his surprise, Alex actually stepped up to the blade, calling Methos' bluff. He let Alex move against the knife for a second before stashing it back where it came from. "Shall we go somewhere less comfortable?" Alex asked.

Methos walked away. Alex followed him, but stopped on the stairs leading down to the sidewalk to light a cigarette. "Picked up any other bad habits since the last time?" Methos asked.

Alex took a drag on the cigarette and exhaled sharply. "Thousands. Yourself?"

"Nothing more for me to learn."

"I doubt that," Alex drawled, and took another drag. "Where is he?"

Methos looked at the young man. He had been Kronos' find. He had been younger then and more eager to please. Methos had been a part of the relationship for less than a week before Kronos had kicked Alex out.

"Dead," Methos finally said.

Alex stared at him for a moment, and then slowly nodded his head. "If he gets better, tell him to look me up."

"Will do," Methos said. Alex took a step closer and put his cigarette to Methos' lips. "Suck," he ordered.

The boy's nerve made him smile. This might be just what he was looking for. Methos gripped onto Alex's wrist and deliberately dug his nails into the skin as he inhaled. The longer Alex stayed in his space, the harder he dug his nails into the tender skin on his forearm. Methos plucked the cigarette from Alex's hand and threw it to the ground, stomping on it. "Did I forget your brand?" Alex asked.

Methos smiled, moving his eyes down Krycek's inner thigh. "Do you still have yours?" he asked, changing the subject.

Alex put his hand over the mark Methos knew he had. Alex Krycek was such an interesting study: dark and dangerous, but needing domination. Methos was in the mood to accommodate him. "This way," he ordered.

Without a word, Alex followed him.

The doorman said nothing as he opened the door for them, but stared at his feet and nodded to Methos. There weren't a lot of things a man like Alex could be doing in a hotel like this. Methos smiled at the way Alex stood in the foyer, pointedly ignoring the glances he was getting. "Keeping a low profile?" Alex finally asked when the elevator arrived. Methos was staying with Connor downtown but kept an upscale uptown hotel room for emergencies. An Alex emergency, for example. The last time they had met was in a dive on the west coast that Kronos had found. The mattresses had stunk and no one had complained about the new bloodstains on the sheets.

Methos shrugged. He unlocked the door with his keypad, and motioned Alex in. Alex went straight to the bar. He moved efficiently, taking out the bottle of single malt and opening the icebox. He poured himself a drink, and left everything on the counter as he went into the bedroom.

Methos followed him into the bedroom and leaned against the archway as Alex dropped his jacket onto the floor. The ice clanked against Alex's teeth. "The rest," Methos said. Alex turned around. "What?"

"Take it all off."

"Go to hell."

Methos took off his jacket, letting it clank behind him. Alex didn't move from the centre of the room, but his nostrils flared. "I said take off your clothes," Methos ordered, and let the knife fall into his hand again. He held it to Alex's throat, lifting the man's chin with it.

Alex swallowed, digging his skin onto the knife. "Make me," he growled.

Methos smiled and lifted the T-shirt collar off Alex's clavicle. The knife cut through the double layer of cloth easily, and slid through the shirt. Alex's nipples were tight, and Methos ran the palm of his hand over both of them. "You'd fucking well better buy me a new one," Alex growled.

Methos pressed the blade against his lips. "Shush." He traced the thin line that separated Alex's lips from the white skin. "Trust me," he whispered.

"You first," Alex snapped and then winced as Methos stung him with the tip of the blade. It was just a nick, just below his ear, and stopped bleeding before it ever really started, but Alex pressed his lips together.

Methos moved the knife down to Alex's groin. "Tell me, on or off?" he asked, moving the blade over the hard bulge. He kissed Alex's ear and then licked the drop of blood off his skin.

Without speaking, Alex unbuttoned his jeans, but then let his hands drop to his side, staring at Methos defiantly. Methos smiled and scraped harder over Alex's cock. "There's a good boy," he said. "There's a very good boy. Open your mouth."

Alex's green eyes glinted, but he willingly obeyed. Methos put the hilt of the knife in his mouth and closed Alex's jaw over it. He stripped off the jeans, and Alex stepped out of them. Methos reclaimed his knife, and stepped back. Kronos' brand was beautiful on his skin, harsh and cruel. He put his hand over it once, feeling Alex's body heat radiate through it.

"So who's the little psychiatrist? Anyone I should look up?"

"Why, finally decided you need some therapy?" Methos kept his tone light, not letting Alex see his tension at the thought of Julie's vulnerability. He was briefly furious at being brought out of the particular frame of mind he was in by being forced to worry about her safety. He didn't like for his worlds to collide.

"Just a diversion," he said, keeping his voice flat.

"How...diverting?" Alex smirked.

Methos slapped him hard. It would have knocked down a weaker man. "She's mine," Methos growled. "Tentacles off."

"Yes, sir," Alex said, sarcasm dripping from his lips.

Methos put the blade at Alex's throat and kept it there until Alex lowered his eyes.

"Very good," Methos whispered, kissing the man's cheek, satisfied with his acquiescence. "Be a good boy and don't disappoint me."

Alex pulled away from the kiss and stepped away, disgust clear on his face. Methos grabbed his arm, pushing him hard up against the wall and pressing into him. "Enough talk," Alex growled, thrusting back hard into Methos, bracing himself against the wall to give himself more support.

"You want to play, do you?" Methos demanded. He ran the knife down the line of Alex's spine. "But this isn't a game to you, is it?" Alex hissed but didn't answer. "On your knees, little one," Methos said, backing away slightly.

Alex didn't move from against the wall. Methos moved his wrist, and scored Alex over his shoulder. It was deep enough to bleed, but would hurt less than a wasp sting. A single line of blood moved slowly down Alex's back, and the man shuddered. "On your knees, Alex. I have all night," Methos whispered.

Alex dropped to his knees. Methos moved up behind him, one foot beside each knee. Alex moved his head back so that it brushed Methos' groin, and Methos laughed. "Very good," he whispered and shoved the knife in the waistband of his jeans.. "Put your hands over your head."

Alex obeyed, grinding the back of his head against Methos. Methos shifted so he could press himself harder against Alex and grabbed both Alex's wrists.

Alex was quick, but Methos was quicker. His body was already shifting away as Alex brought his head back hard, but Methos wasn't there any more. That would have hurt. Alex tried to twist, but Methos wouldn't let go of his wrists. "You want to fight, do you?" he asked.

Without waiting for a response, Methos dragged him into the bathroom. Alex fought, but Methos was taller and stronger, and he waited the man out. He actually had to move away from the thrashing body; the brushes against his cock were accidental, but he couldn't take many more of them. A hundred random marks and the single deliberate brand marred Alex's skin, and it was perfect to him. He wasn't like Julie who, willingly or not, hid the fullness of her intensity. Alex was mortality in all its glory.

"Tiring, pup?" he asked, and laughed at the renewed vigorous attack. Methos switched both Alex's wrist to a single hand, which although looked impressive was hell on his muscles. He quickly undid his belt and held it between his own teeth for a moment before taking the knife back out. Alex's breath caught, but he stopped fighting.

Methos backed him to the wall, but Alex was mulishly looking over his shoulder. "Don't move," Methos said, mildly.

Alex's nostrils flared, but he still didn't look at him. Methos scraped the tip against the soft tissue under Alex's jaw. "Look at me," he drawled.

Alex's eyes flashed again, and Methos lifted his chin an extra inch. Alex had to stand on his toes to avoid being cut by the blade. "Do you understand?" Methos asked. Alex was stretched out as much as he could, and Methos lifted his chin another eighth of an inch. If Alex nodded his head, the tip would skewer him; if he shook his head, the blade would slice his throat. Alex swallowed delicately, and grunted.

"I thought so," Methos said. He used his teeth and made a loop in his belt. Alex was most accommodating when Methos slipped it over his wrists. "Come," he ordered.

Alex slowly followed him, unsure, but relaxed as Methos looped the belt over the shower curtain bar. Methos lashed him in place, and smiled as Alex tested his bonds. He realized he wasn't going anywhere and relaxed.

"There now," Methos whispered. "You're caught."

"Thank you," Alex said simply.

Methos kissed his shoulder softly and then nipped him. "Any time," he lied. He didn't think he could take Alex's intensity all the time. Like MacLeod's sacred sex, like Julie's playfulness and charm -- everything had its place. The man rocked against him, and Methos stripped off his shirt and undid his pants. Alex tugged the belt, but didn't try to get away as he felt Methos move behind him. "Easy," he whispered. Methos used the conditioner provided by the hotel. His bag was too far away in the other room. He guided himself against Alex's opening with one hand, and with the other, he carefully placed the knife against Alex's neck. "Say you want this," he whispered.

Alex tilted his head back, exposing his throat. "I want this."

"Do you want it enough?" Methos asked. He ran his tongue behind Alex's ear and then bit down on the cartilage. He took the knife off Alex's skin in case the man jolted, but Alex followed the knife up, keeping it against his skin.

Alex twisted back and jolted him. The knife cut into the base of his throat. He grunted in pain.

"Something you don't...like...Alex?" Methos' voice was sinuous and deadly.

"Just...be a little careful, alright? I don't snap, crackle, and pop like you guys."

Methos laughed. "No, you don't. You don't." Methos held the knife in front of Alex' face where he could see it, tracing it with his other hand. "So you prefer...this end?" he asked, showing Alex the leather bound hilt. Methos reversed the blade, carefully holding with two fingers. He held it up to Alex's lips. "Suck," he ordered.

Alex shuddered, but parted his lips. Methos forced it in his mouth, and Alex accommodated it. Alex gagged for a second, trying to pull away, but Methos wouldn't let him move back. "No, don't fight," he said. "Take it."

The sound wasn't exactly a whimper, and Alex grimaced again. Methos drew it out of Alex's mouth so that just the pommel rested behind his teeth, and then thrust it back inside. "Do a good job, pup, you know where it's going next," he said.

Alex's body tightened, and he tried to nod around the hilt. It didn't quite work. Methos pulled the knife free and rubbed the leather against Alex's cheek. "Not quite ready yet, is it?" he asked.

Alex slowed his breathing in preparation for the sudden pain. Methos brought the blade down, and squirted more conditioner onto his palm, but worked it over his cock rather than the leather. "Relax, Alex. I don't want this to hurt any more than it has to," he said.

Alex forced his body to relax as Methos held his cheeks apart. "Brace yourself," he growled, but slammed his cock inside. Alex jerked against the belt, but then almost shouted in surprise as he felt the cock inside him. He started to fight again, but between the belt and Methos holding his hips, there was nowhere for Alex to go.

Fucking standing up was never easy, and having to hold his partner still made it even more difficult. Methos bit down on his shoulder, trying to keep Alex still, but Alex was too angry. He brought the blade of the knife across his hand, just to cut his skin, and then gathered Alex's cock in his hand, the blood slickening his grip. Alex groaned, thrusting into Methos' fist, and then the quickening healed the slight cut. Alex yelped, body shaking like it had been electrocuted. Methos only managed to stroke it twice before Alex came, spilling his come over Methos' hand. The contractions around his own cock, still buried in the heat of Alex's ass, made him come. Alex's body sagged against his, and Methos held him until he could stand unassisted.

"What the hell was _that_?" Alex asked, when he could talk, his voice harsh.

Methos kept his face straight. "Snap, crackle, pop," he said and pulled away.

He went to the sink. His body was slick with sweat, but he washed off in the basin rather than untying Alex so he could use the shower. Alex just stood there with his body quivering, his head bowed, and his eyes shut. He looked completely vulnerable, beaten and bloody. The cuts had stopped bleeding, and there were only a few drops of blood on the shower curtain that had to be dealt with.

If Kronos was alive there would have been much more.

Methos left the bathroom without Alex calling him back to free him. He went to the bar, and put the half-melted tray of ice back into the freezer. He cracked open a second tiny bottle and downed it. The heat spread through him, and he ordered room-service.

Alex was still trembling when he went back to him, and Methos took the damp cloth from the sink and began washing his body with warm water. "Feeling better?" he asked.

Alex lifted his head to look at him, but didn't speak. Methos' semen ran down the back of his thigh, and Methos kissed him as he wiped it up. "Do you want down?" he asked.

"Not yet," Alex said. His voice was raspy.

"Call me when you're ready."

Alex nodded and sighed. Methos touched his arm and let him go. Dinner came and his dishes cleared before he heard his name being called. Methos went into the bathroom and leaned against the sink.

"How did he die?" Alex asked. He didn't open his eyes.

"How we all die. Someone took his head."

"I tried to find him."

"There was nothing for you to find."

"Was it..." Alex faltered.

"Quick? Painless?"

"Meaningful," Alex finished.

Methos inhaled, giving himself time to think about it. "Yes," he said, simply.

Alex nodded, obviously not needing any more information. He pulled on the belt one more time, and then opened his eyes. "I'd like down," he said.

Methos undid the belt. Krycek rubbed his wrists and winced. He pushed past Methos, and pulled his jeans back on. "Here," Methos said, and took out a hundred dollars.

Krycek's eyes narrowed. "What's that for?" he demanded.

"A new shirt. I owe you one."

Krycek took the bill, balled it up, and threw it on the floor. He crowded Methos, and Methos was so amused he let the boy invade his space. "Never try to buy me," he growled.

Methos bowed his head. "What about your shirt?" he asked.

Krycek tugged his jacket on over his bare chest. "I'll take it out in kind," he said.

Methos nodded, but Krycek had already left. "You do that," he said.

***

Methos took the Fifth Avenue bus downtown. Connor was due in around 8:00, and they had agreed to meet up the street from Connor's place at the White Horse Tavern. He wondered what he would say if Connor asked about his day. Methos snickered. It would be unlike Connor to ask. Just as well. For himself, he reflected on the relative charms of Innocence and Debauchery.

Well, relative innocence, at any rate, he thought, thinking again on Julie's unexpected moves with the dagger, and the way she had smiled wickedly at his surprise. On second thought, his two lovers weren't so far apart.

They both liked knives.


End file.
